


everybody's pickin' up on that feline beat

by harrily



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Cat/Human Hybrids, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Paranormal, Science Experiments, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Shapeshifting, i'll add more tags as the story goes on!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrily/pseuds/harrily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But then there’s another figure that he’s never seen entering the coffeehouse before.</p><p>The boy is petite; short and slim, with duo-colored hair (blond near the ends and black roots), scrutinizing yellow eyes and a timid expression on his face. </p><p> </p><p>or a kuroken au where kuroo works at a coffeeshop, kenma is a new customer and there's something more than mutual crushing that draws them together</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my very first haikyuu!! fic and i honestly don't know where this idea came from  
> i wish i could but i really really can't (it's probably because whenever i think of kuroken i associate them with cats sooo  
> aanyway, this is the cat/shapeshifter au i never thought i'd write, but here we go! enjoy!  
> (yes the title is literally from the song 'everybody wants to be a cat' because i'm trash)

It’s not often that Kuroo finds himself like this.

 

His body feels sweaty, thighs sticking together underneath his damp boxers. The covers feel heavy on top of him, the fan that hangs from the ceiling spinning does absolutely nothing to him. Even when he closes his eyes and tries to relax, the muscles on his fingers and toes keep twitching restlessly.

He can’t sleep.

Usually when it comes to nights like these, Kuroo will probably go to Bokuto’s room and snuggle up to him, or find him in the living room watching some awful indie movie and order takeout from the nearest 24-hour restaurant near their apartment, however Bokuto is not coming home for another two days from his mum’s and he is all alone.

There’s always the option of waking up Akaashi, who’s sleeping in his best friend’s room and could keep him company with his quiet, mellow voice, however he can hear him snoring pretty loudly. So all he does in the end is to put on sweatpants and a t-shirt, grab his keys and some money and exit their apartment.

It’s mid-July and the heat is already unbearable — there’s almost no one on the streets at a time like this, only a few passing cars. Kuroo gets out a cigarette and lights it up, aimlessly wandering through his neighborhood. At some point, he sits down at a bench and puts his headphones on, listening to music and letting his thoughts consume his brain.

That is, until he feels something soft against his hand.

He’s startled at first, breath hitching in his throat, until he sees the small cat who’s currently rubbing its furry spine along his palm, as if begging him to pet it. Kuroo smiles faintly — the cat is relatively small but not necessarily young, with orange, white and black spots all over it and a long tail that keeps swishing back and forth in delight. “Hello, there,” he coos, his fingers rubbing the underside of the neck. The cat happily settles down on the bench next to him, pushing its face against his thigh, a soft hum buzzing throughout its small body; purring.

The cat has mostly its eyes closed, yet whenever Kuroo sees them he’s amazed by their intensity; they’re yellow, piercing and scrutinizing whenever they take a look at Kuroo. Honestly, he feels as if he’s being judged for his petting skills: so far, so good.

The cat stays by his side for a few more minutes before it escapes from his embrace smoothly, swishing its tail right and left, its small paws creating a soft sound with each footfall on the pavement. It turns its head, looking at Kuroo for a mere second before walking away between some dumpsters.

“Hm…” Kuroo mumbles to himself, confused for a second before sitting up from the bench making his way back to his apartment.

It’s not too long before he can hear footsteps behind him — usually it would not bother him that much, but right now there’s an eerie feeling creeping up on him, as if the footsteps are trying to match his own, as if they’re trying to catch up on him, to catch him. He’s been robbed before on the street in broad daylight, however he feels that this time his pursuer wants more than his wallet and his phone.

Or maybe he’s just being paranoid.

It’s suddenly quite cold, goose bumps appearing on his arms as he starts walking faster, heartbeat racing when he hears the person speeding up as well. He could easily stop walking altogether, let them pass in front and continue on with his walk like normal, yet he’s sure that if he stops he’s going to be caught.

It happens too fast for his liking — a hand pushes a wet towel against his nose and mouth, the chloroform seeping quickly through his nostrils and leaving him unconscious.

 

 

  
When he wakes up again, he’s back at his apartment, and it takes him quite a while to figure out what exactly is going on.

His stomach is churning, mouth feeling heavy and dry, his chest heaving up and down with every ragging breath that leaves his mouth. Sweat is pooling around his neck and on the mattress, his skin feels itchy, and he wants to throw up.

He ends up doing exactly that on his bedroom floor.

Once it starts it doesn’t really stop, and tears soon fill his eyes, making his vision blurry. He senses someone entering his room, and then a hand is on his back, rubbing it soothingly, “C’mon, let it all out, it’s okay.” Akaashi murmurs, pushing his fringe from his face and wiping the sweat from his forehead, “Let’s get you to the bathroom, alright? I’ll clean this up, you go shower. You can manage on your own, right?”

Kuroo nods, even though his feet feel wobbly, like they will give out any second and make him drop to the floor. He smells the vomit that has stained his clothes and it just makes him want to throw up even more. Eventually, he takes all of his dirty clothes off and gets in the shower, cold water hitting his skin and making it numb. Once he’s done with his shower, he feels slightly better, yet the pounding in his head doesn’t want to leave, and each time he tries to remember anything from last night he gets the urge to vomit again.

Akaashi wraps him in blankets and sits him on the couch, bringing him a steaming cup of tea and checks his forehead, “You’re not feverish…” he murmurs, more to himself, in a motherly/concerned tone. Kuroo wonders if he goes to that extend for Bokuto when he is the one who’s sick. Bokuto must love all the attention and coddling Akaashi gives him. “Did you eat something out of date again?”

“No, I… I went out last night,” that’s the only part he remembers clearly; getting out of their apartment because it was simply suffocatingly hot. “For a walk, it was pretty hot in my room.”

“Hm…” Akaashi sits down next to him, “I texted Bokuto, he’s on his way back from his mum —“

“Ugh, Akaashi…” Kuroo groans, instantly feeling guilty for making his friends worry about him.

“Don’t sweat it, you haven’t caused any trouble,” his friend reassures him, “I’ll bring you something light to eat, okay? You can sleep, if you want.” It’s still just as hot inside their apartment as it was last night (their air-con refuses to work no matter how many times Bokuto slams his fist on it) and yet he’s so cold that the blankets Akaashi brought him are not enough to stop him from shivering.

Each time he tries to remember last night’s events, an excruciating pain consumes him. It just does not make sense — if he did just go our for a walk, why can’t he remember anything from it? He cannot even remember just how he got back at his apartment, not even getting into bed. It’s just a blur of images and sounds that do not make sense altogether and just make the ache in his head more acute.

Well, he could have just gone out at some bar, gotten drunk and stumbled back home — that would easily explain the headache and the vomiting. And even though he so badly wants to believe that this is truly the case, there’s a gnawing feeling in his chest that gives him the impression things are not so simple.

It’s only when Akaashi comes from the kitchen with a bowl of hot soup that Kuroo realizes he has been scratching his arm all this time and there’s blood between his nails, “Shit…” he mumbles to himself, dumbfounded.

“I’m going to call a doctor,” Akaashi says once he’s treated Kuroo’s wounds from all the nail scratching, “Just in case, alright?” he just nods, trying to resist scratching his skin again because of how itchy his nails feel. “I don’t think this is anything serious,” Akaashi tries to reassure him, but panic has already settled in Kuroo’s throat, and Akaashi’s soothing words do nothing to relieve him from the stress that slowly consumes him. What’s wrong with him?

Bokuto arrives first.

“You look like shit.” is the first thing he says before he’s lunging onto the couch, wrapping his arms around Kuroo and the blankets Akaashi has put around him like a cocoon.

“Thank you,” Kuroo replies dryly, a small smile playing on his lips. He really missed him. His voice is rough and coarse, but it’s slowly coming back to normal.

“How’s he doing?” Bokuto asks his boyfriend, as if a switch has been turned and he’s suddenly into dad-mode.

“He’s the same since he woke up. I gave him some soup and wrapped him in blankets but he still feels cold, yet he doesn’t have a fever.”

“Give him some medicine, just in case —“

“That’s not how it works, you can’t give him medicine just like that when he doesn’t even have a high fever —“

“I’m right here,” Kuroo reminds them, “I feel better now, you don’t have to worry about me.” He really doesn’t, but he can’t force both of them to tend after him like a child.

“Cut the bull, I told you you look like shit.” Bokuto laughs. He presses a soft kiss on Akaashi’s lips and sits down on the couch. “We’ll watch something to get your mind off things.” Akaashi soon starts getting ready for work, occupying the shower.

“You know you didn’t have to come here, right? I’m fine.” says Kuroo, checking the clock on their wall — 10:42 am. He’ll probably have to call in sick at work if he doesn’t feel any better until the afternoon.

Akaashi has already showered and dressed up when they start on a second episode of some stupid show a co-worker of Bokuto showed him (well, it’s pretty good so far, he has to admit). “I’ll tell Asahi that you’re sick and you can’t work today. You need to rest.”

Kuroo desperately wants to disagree, that maybe he might feel better in the afternoon when his shift at Cafe Diem begins. He just knows that Asahi is going to be worried about him and think about it for the rest of the day, and probably send him a basket full of sweets and flowers to make him feel better (it’s happened before). But the blankets finally feel warm around him, and the voices of his friends are soothing in his ears, his eyes feel heavy and his headache has started to calm down a bit, so he just nods and lets sleep overtake him.

He dreams of rough hands twisting and turning his body; bright cerulean eyes and a twisted smile, an acute pain on his thigh and chains constricting his arms and legs on a cold, metal bed.

 

 

  
A week passes before Kuroo can say for sure that he’s feeling a bit better — the headaches have subsided a bit, only occurring to him when he’s tired, however the itchiness underneath his nails and on his skin is still there, and he still can’t eat anything he wants to without wanting to throw it up.

It’s his first day back at work as well — Asahi let him stay a whole week at home in order for him to feel better and rest. It was annoying how caring and selfless his boss was sometimes, but Kuroo was thankful to him because he’s sure he wouldn’t have had the strength to serve coffees and beverages without passing out from the pain in his neck and stomach.

“One double espresso and a cinnamon roll for table 4 ready to go!” Hinata exclaims, passing the order to Kuroo, who quickly delivers it to the right table — he enjoys working here, now that it’s summer and he has no classes to attend. “I missed you!” the orange-haired boy says once he’s back, a smile on his lips.

“Yes,” Kageyama, a grumpy waiter says. It’s not often that they talk, but Kuroo has figured out that the boy is not as cold-hearted and angry as he looks all the time (it’s just his face, as Hinata says, although Kuroo’s pretty sure that the two of them do not just share mutual friendly feelings for each other). “Asahi-san was pretty worried about you.”

“All of us were!” Nishinoya, the barista, pipes in, “Thank god we had Akaashi to give us updates. You should have at least given us a call to tell us you’re okay.”

“He was too busy puking his guts out,” a throaty laugh comes from behind, and soon Bokuto has joined them (honestly, if Akaashi didn’t work here, Kuroo’s pretty sure that Bokuto wouldn’t have even stepped his foot in here in the first place — now all he does is hang out in the coffee shop, consuming their supply in coffee and sketch Akaashi in various poses; mostly his ass whenever he bends over to clean up the floor).

“I feel better,” he tells them truthfully, “Thanks, guys.” as he turns around, he spots a familiar, tall, blond boy enters the shop, the bell on the door ringing to alert them of his presence. Behind him is another familiar, shorter boy with freckles doted all over his face and a kind smile on his lips. A short girl follows, blond hair with a school uniform (Kuroo’s pretty sure he’s seen her again once or twice talking with Shimizu a few times in the past), but then there’s another figure that he’s never before entering the coffeehouse.

The boy is petite; short and slim, with duo-colored hair (blond near the ends and black roots), scrutinizing yellow eyes and a timid expression on his face.

“Megane-kun!” Bokuto grins, approaching the small group and pulling up a chair to sit next to the blond.

“Please don’t call me that,” Tsukishima sighs, adjusting his glasses while Yamaguchi laughs. “Why are you even here? You don’t even work here!”

“My boyfriend does.”

“Ah, Megane-kun!” Kuroo exclaims, quickly finding an excuse to approach the table where the shorty is sitting, who has now brought out a playstation and is already immersed in some video game. And it’s always fun to tease Tsukishima with Bokuto and watch him get frustrated. “You’re back!”

Tsukishima just sighs and proceeds to order for everyone before turning to the shorty again, “Kenma? What do you want?”

The boy doesn’t take his eyes off from the game, and his fingers do not stop pressing on the buttons as he mutters, “Coffee and apple pie.” He has a soft, quiet voice, Kuroo notes. He rather likes it. Once Kuroo takes their order he delivers it to Nishinoya, who instantly smiles, “Oi, Hinata! Kenma’s here!”

An excited sound comes from the kitchen and Hinata comes back, his hands still full of bubbly soap from washing cups and dishes, and heads towards Kenma, ignoring the way Kageyama is shouting at him to come back because he refuses to wash all of those dishes alone. “Kenma!” Hinata hugs the short boy, who momentarily throws a sideway glance at the boy before resuming his game. Kuroo doesn’t miss the tiny, fond smile that plays on his lips.

“Who is he?” he ends up blurting, and Nishinoya laughs.

“Kozume Kenma. He goes to the same college as Tsukishima and Akaashi — he sometimes comes here after class and hangs out with Hinata.”

How come I haven’t noticed him? Kuroo wonders, “He’s pretty quiet, you wouldn’t notice him easily. It’s usually Shoyo who does the talking; Kenma just listens.” he says, as if he’s guessed Kuroo’s confusion. “You should go say hi when their order is ready. He’s a pretty cool kid.”

When it’s time for Kuroo to deliver their order, he takes the chance to observe Kenma more; he’s wearing pink shorts that reach the top of his knees, a white shirt two sizes larger than what suits him and a denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Kuroo also notes that his nails are painted a plain, dark blue color. When he passes him the apple pie, Kenma pauses his game, raises his gaze and gives Kuroo a small smile of appreciation.

When Kuroo goes back to the kitchen to wash up, there’s a familiar feeling in his chest, and all he can think about is that it’s not the first time he’s seen those yellow eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the last few days he has noticed some slight changes in his body — he has been having even more trouble getting any sleep during the night, which results to almost falling asleep while he’s working. Even though he’s been wearing reading glasses from middle school, all of a sudden he can see perfectly fine without them. He has also become extremely sensitive to noises — even when Bokuto’s wearing his softest socks and walks on their white, plushy carpet, he can still hear the sound of his feet falling to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to say a H U G E thank you to everyone who left kudos and commented on the first chapter and bookmarked it! i'm really happy everyone's enjoying this story so far! 
> 
> enjoy this kinda small chapter (the chapters are probably going to get longer as the story goes on)! 
> 
> thank you again and have a great day/evening/afternoon :)

The headaches do not really stop, nor have they gotten stronger; they’re just there, and it’s what annoys Kuroo the most.

 

And it’s not only that; over the last few days he has noticed some slight changes in his body — he has been having even more trouble getting any sleep during the night, which results to almost falling asleep while he’s working. Even though he’s been wearing reading glasses from middle school, all of a sudden he can see perfectly fine without them. He has also become extremely sensitive to noises — even when Bokuto’s wearing his softest socks and walks on their white, plushy carpet, he can still hear the sound of his feet falling to the floor. The worst part of it all is the itchiness that makes him want to scratch his skin all the time, and there are constant marks on his arms and thighs. He’s tried scratching his pillow whenever it gets too much, he’s even tried googling it but has not found a logical explanation for his behavior, and it’s honestly getting ridiculous. He refuses from telling either Akaashi or Bokuto. He makes up an excuse of it being an allergic reaction to something but he’s never been allergic to anything.

The boy, Kenma, has been coming almost everyday at Cafe Diem, accompanying Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, and always orders the same two things. Sometimes, Kuroo catches him staring, those yellow eyes of his staring, watching, analyzing him. Sometimes, he swears he can catch a glimpse of that pair of eyes when he’s about to fall asleep from the window next to his bed.

He really needs to figure out what’s wrong with him.

But Kuroo has been staring as well — observing the way Kenma sits, how he crosses his legs that don’t quite reach the floor because of the high stool he’s sitting on or bumps his shoes together while he plays on his phone. How he sometimes pushes the hair behind his ear or twirl a blond string between his fingers. And he’d be lying if he said that Kenma hasn’t noticed him.

Sometimes, like now, he finds Kenma behind the counter, sitting near the kitchen with Hinata talking to him, all big smiles and huge gesticulations, “And so Kageyama got pretty angry with me, because you know how he gets when he’s angry, I’ve told you how he is, haven’t I? There’s this stupid frown on his lips and his face gets all twisted —“

“You and Kageyama-kun seem pretty close,” is all Kenma comments, and he does not need to say anything else to turn Hinata’s face the same color as his hair. Kuroo watches them from afar and has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling; their interactions are so interesting to watch —

Suddenly, Kenma takes his eyes from his phone and meets Kuroo’s eyes.

He says something to him, but it’s too loud inside the coffeehouse and he can’t quite grasp his words just by reading his lips. Kenma does not bother speaking louder for him to hear, just goes back to his one-sided conversation with Hinata, who has noticed nothing and just keeps on babbling about Kageyama and his little sister, Natsu.

Well.

Kuroo takes a blueberry cupcake and a cappuccino at table 7 and nearly drops the cup on the customer’s lap because of how distracted he is. He apologizes a few dozen times and sees Kenma softly giggling in his hand from behind the counter, obviously not listening to a word that comes out of Shoyo’s mouth.

“Oi, man,” Bokuto says, sliding next to Kuroo once it’s time for his break. They’re sitting at the backyard of the coffeehouse (the only place where they allow smoking, so Kuroo makes sure to take advantage of that on a daily basis), “So, Kozume-kun.”

Kuroo knows where this conversation is heading before he’s even uttered a word. It’s always like this with Bokuto; he’ll pick up on something his best friend has been doing, will turn his voice into a ‘dad trying to befriend his child’ kind and begin his interrogation with a “so, …”

“What about him?” Kuroo breathes out from his lips, the smoke coming out into ringlets.

“You like him, right?”

“He’s cool, I guess.” They both know he’s lying. Kenma is one of those people who do not even need to utter a word, and yet they have this air that makes you want to be liked by them (Kuroo hopes to become a part of this cult one day — does he have to sell his soul to a demon or something?) “Cute, even.”

A crow-like laugh escapes Bokuto, “Well, I’m pretty glad you like him, buttercup, because he’s going to be coming a lot by our place for the next few weeks. Akaashi partnered up with him for one of the projects they’re doing for a seminar and they’re gonna work at our place for a while.”

Sometimes Kuroo’s life moves on its own without asking him if he’s ready, emotionally or physically. Today is just one of those days.

“…The male body was found this morning in an alleyway in the east region of Tokyo, a few blocks away from the Ministry of Justice. Although Police have asked for a necropsy to be conducted, they have yet to discover who the body belonged to, since it was found mutilated and severely maimed. This is what the Chief of Police has to say on the matter…”

Kuroo turns his head to the TV Asahi has put up on the wall of the coffeehouse, and realizes that the majority of the customers and workers have turned their attention towards the female news anchor.

“That’s pretty close from here…” Nishinoya mutters, fear evident in his voice.

“There’s always danger lurking around us,” Akaashi states, although his usual confident voice is now trembling slightly. “Be careful, all of you.” Bokuto slides his hand and holds Akaashi’s under the counter.

“Your turn,” Kageyama’s low voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and the boy passes him a tray full of cups and dishes to wash. Grumbling, Kuroo goes in the kitchen and starts scrubbing them clean.

An uneasy feeling has already settled in his heart; he has yet to remember what happened to him that night two weeks ago. Bokuto and Akaashi just assumed that he had gotten drunk and so Kuroo just fueled their assumptions by agreeing to them. However deep down, he knew that wasn’t the case, and the fact that he was not able to remember a single thing made him even more paranoid each day.

And yet now he can remember one single thing from that night — he was definitely walking around the specific area the male body was found this morning. Images suddenly flood his brain; of neon signs on closed shops, of empty streets, of a wooden bench, of soft fur. And of course, yellow, almost amber, observing eyes.

And then darkness again.

On Thursdays, like today, Kuroo is responsible for closing up the coffeehouse and cleaning up after everyone’s gone. It takes him much longer than usual; his thoughts keep wandering off to strange corners of his mind and he finds himself leaning against the wall, broom in his hand and the majority of the shop still dirty. Once he switches off the lights and locks the door, he starts heading towards his apartment, planning to stop at a grocery store to pick up some things his roommates asked him to.

Before he can reach the street of his apartment, a hand wraps around his mouth and pulls him into a dark alleyway.

The shopping bags drop from his hands as he starts squirming and twisting, muffled cries against the stranger’s hand, but the person is too strong for him to escape from his grasp, “There you are,” a voice whispers in his ear, and Kuroo shudders.

He is soon thrown against the concrete, a punch delivered to his stomach to make him temporarily weak enough and unable to escape. Insides churning, he looks up, only to be met with a scrawny, elderly man, who gives him a toothy grin while he speaks, “Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?”

The man grabs Kuroo’s hair and tilts his head forcefully to the side. Then, with a satisfied look, he let’s go.

The pain in Kuroo’s stomach is strong enough to keep him on the ground. The man’s words make absolutely no sense to him and it just makes him all the more scared; he cannot figure out if he’s getting robbed or if something horrible is going to happen to him, is he going to be used, is he going to be tortured, oh god. His immobile state, matched with the agony he’s feeling make his bones tremble in fear. Stomach twisted, he coughs, spit spilling on the concrete, and the man laughs, “Oh, you’re going to be such a fine specimen. You’re truly one of the best.”

Kuroo shivers, because he doesn’t know what exactly the man is talking about, but he figures out it’s definitely not going to be good for him. Even though he tries to get up on his feet again and deliver a long-awaited punch on this pervert, a kick lands on his stomach again and has him doubling over in the corner of the alleyway.

Then, the inexplicable happens.

At first, he doesn’t realize why or how, but the man starts screaming all of a sudden, hands coming up to pull on the few hairs he has on his head. Kuroo is so shocked that he misses his chance to get up and start running to his apartment, where he will lock all the doors and windows and avoid humanity for a month.

Then, as Kuroo looks closely, he realizes that the man who ‘abducted’ him and felt him up is actually being attacked. By a fucking cat.

It’s surreal — so surreal that Kuroo has the urge to start laughing, and he would, he honestly would if he didn’t feel like peeing his pants from the sheer terror he’s feeling after this near-death experience. The scene is too hilarious to be real.

The cat, orange with black and white spots, is digging its nails on the man’s head, holding onto him for dear life as he keeps shrieking and cursing, desperately trying to push the maniac animal off of him — the cat instead starts shrieking as well instead of retreating, scratching and biting and showing no mercy towards the old man.

It’s as if…

It’s as if the cat knew that Kuroo was in danger.

Not only that, it’s as if the cat knew Kuroo was in danger and felt the need to protect him.

Instantly, the cat jumps from the man’s head and lands smoothly on the ground on its four paws, moving quickly towards Kuroo, who is still lying on the concrete. It swishes its tail around Kuroo’s neck and protectively sits tall in front of his face. The cat is small, so Kuroo can see most of the old man, but then the animal starts hissing at Kuroo’s pursuer, tail standing tall and rigid and back arched in self-defense, ready to attack.

The old man mumbles something under his breath in disbelief that Kuroo doesn’t quite catch — his face looks pale, fear and panic quickly consuming him. Kuroo doesn’t know how a cat is able to intimidate a grown man that much, but he guessed it’s possible because the man does not stay to harass him a minute longer; instead, he starts sprinting quickly away from the dark alleyway, trying to get away from the two as fast as possible.

It’s only then that Kuroo remembers the breath he has been holding all this time and let’s it out in relief, chest slumping against the dirty ground. The cat remains its posture, as if checking to see if any other predators are around to hurt Kuroo, then it turns around.

Yellow eyes meet black, and Kuroo’s heart almost stops.

He recognizes the animal from two weeks ago, the same one that approached him and asked for a bit of petting and cuddling, the last living thing he remembers seeing before waking up in his bed again and not remembering a thing. Could it be that the cat felt protective towards him after it was treated with care? Kuroo has not heard of cats ever feeling gratitude towards humans.

Stupidly, he opens his mouth, “Hey, it’s —“

The cat is gone before he utter another word. He watches as it runs and jumps over the fence to the backyard of some house.

Kuroo stays on the ground for a few minutes. Deep breaths. Trying to process the events that happened before his eyes and sound so bizarre, yet are so true. He can smell the dirt on the ground, broken beer bottles and piss and burned cigarettes tossed here and there. He figures he has to get up before someone finds him and then he has to explain himself. And he’s really not in the mood for that.

He’s a reasonable young man, always trying to find a logical explanation for the issues that occur to him — the man that assaulted him was probably a drunk (although he smelled no alcohol on him) or had a serious mental problem and took Kuroo for someone else, because his words simply made no sense (maybe he was even a part of some sacrilegious cult). Then, there’s the cat.

Unless this particular feline had a streak for maintaining justice and helping poor, vulnerable young men, Kuroo really cannot explain the bizarre behavior on the animal and the protectiveness it showed towards him. It could have remembered him from two weeks ago — yet cats are independent creatures, who are in no need of remembering humans or others of their own kind; they can live just fine on their own without the need of companionship.

Before he has even finished his train of thought, he’s already bumped into someone.

Yellow eyes meet black, and Kuroo’s heart almost stops for the second time tonight.

 

“Kozume-kun?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bathroom is surprisingly clean, and he finds quickly the cubicle Kenma is in, “Look the door,” Kenma instructs, and Kuroo obeys. He turns around, and sees Kenma sitting with his legs spread open on the toilet, “Kneel between my legs.”
> 
> Kuroo pauses, “W-well, I never imagined that you would want this, considering we’ve just met —“
> 
> Kenma sighs, “Not that. Just do it, I need to take a look at you.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is 4am. what am i doing with my life. 
> 
> i wrote this in four hours because?? i don't even know, i was just feeling inspired and knew i had to finish this and upload it today (tonight?)! 
> 
> your support means absolutely everything to me, so enjoy whatever this is and i promise to not take too long to post the next chapter!!

 

 

“Is your milkshake any good?”

 

“Mmm.”

Kuroo is not quite sure how he found himself drinking sugary, strawberry milkshake at a mostly empty Waffle House an hour past midnight, sharing a booth with Kenma Kozume of all people.

He likes the boy; just like he told Bokuto, Kenma’s a pretty cute boy to look at, and his fashion sense is pretty cool as well. It’s just that he cannot enjoy this as much as he would otherwise after being assaulted by an old, perverted man behind a grocery store and having a cat save his ass. When he bumped into him, Kuroo was at a loss of words — after uttering his name, he did not exactly know how to continue this conversation, and he also had the slightest suspicion that Kenma had witnessed the last seconds of the scene before both the man and the cat fled, so there really wasn’t any room for talking to a boy he had never spoken to before and has mostly watched from afar or delivered him coffee and apple pie —

“Why don’t you buy me a milkshake?” Kenma had said in a quiet, mellow tone. His voice matched his appearance; quiet and delicate, but giving the impression that it would spell out wise words.

Kenma manages to sip down almost half the glass before popping his lips off and taking his playstation in his hands, thumbs already frantically pressing the buttons, “I warned you,” he says it so quietly that Kuroo almost doesn’t catch it.

“Huh?”

“About today…” Kuroo finds out that Kenma speaks slowly when he’s playing video-games, which is quite annoying when he desperately wants to understand the meaning behind his enigmatic words, “About what happened to you before. I warned you today.”

Kuroo debates with his inner voice for a moment if he’s still having problems recalling memories because he does not remember ever getting told something like this, much more Kenma actually approaching him to warn him.

“No, you did not.”

“Yes, I did,” Kenma insists, taking another sip from his milkshake. “I told you this morning.”

Kuroo now vaguely remembers Kenma mouthing something to him from afar at some point during the day, just for a brief second before he turned back to his conversation with Hinata. “Uh — “

Kenma gets up from his seat, stuffing his playstation in his backpack and throwing it over his shoulder, “Follow me,” he mutters, and heads for the bathroom, leaving Kuroo dumbfounded on his own seat.

He waits a few moments before leaving some money on the table and following Kenma in the bathroom — there aren’t more than three customers at this hour and the two waitresses look sleepy and tired enough to fall asleep on the counter. He hopes that they do not take this trip to the bathroom the wrong way.

Yet Kuroo doesn’t know why Kenma told him to follow him. Honestly, he was not expecting a proposal for awkward, cramped sex in a public bathroom tonight but he’ll probably not refuse; Kenma is pretty cute, after all.

The bathroom is surprisingly clean, and he finds quickly the cubicle Kenma is in, “Look the door,” Kenma instructs, and Kuroo obeys. He turns around, and sees Kenma sitting with his legs spread open on the toilet, “Kneel between my legs.”

Kuroo pauses, “W-well, I never imagined that you would want this, considering we’ve just met —“

Kenma sighs, “Not that. Just do it, I need to take a look at you.”    
“Huh?” asks Kuroo confused, but he’s already kneeling on the cold tiles, Kenma’s hands cupping his cheeks and pushing his face against Kenma’s stomach. Kuroo experimentally tries to mouth over Kenma’s crotch but Kenma lands a soft smack against the back of his neck, so he just rests his face against his stomach again. The fabric of the boy’s shirt is soft and his tummy feels soft and he smells nice — Kuroo could easily fall asleep like this in Kenma’s embrace, given how tired he’s already feeling.

Kenma begins running his fingers through his hair, as if massaging his scalp, and Kuroo’s eyes suddenly feel heavy, “Your hair feels soft,” the boy murmurs. If Kuroo weren’t feeling so comfortable and sleepy, he would have questioned Kenma’s actions, but he’s too tired and warm to care. He’s just glad someone is petting him.

Kenma’s fingers reach behind his ears and starts rubbing soft circles at the base of them; a sudden shock of pleasure and contentment shoots through Kuroo’s body, and a small smile forms on his lips, half-lidded eyes witnessing Kenma softly smile as well, “D’you like that?”

Well, Kuroo always knew that he were a bit kinkier than the rest of his friends, but he did not count this activity as one of his turn-ons, “Feels good…” the pleasure he’s feeling is almost euphoric, yet it’s not the sexual kind of pleasure. It just makes all of his bones pliant and soft like marshmallow, so he pushes his face towards Kenma’s gentile caresses. The soft touches move under his chin, and he almost passes out from happiness. A low rumble escapes his throat; a purr.

“Bite on my shirt.”

“What —“ is all Kuroo can ask before he feels an excruciating pain on his scalp that almost blinds him.

He lets out a scream, realizing that Kenma is trying to pull something from his head. The boy pushes his shirt between his lips and he bites on it, yet it does not really do anything to mute the desperate cries that leave his occupied mouth, “Shh, I know it hurts, I do,” Kenma whispers in his ear, in an attempt to comfort, even though his voice is trembling. “Hold on a little longer, alright?” he pauses, then adds, “For me.”

The pain continues on for a good five minutes, with Kenma pulling small little hairs on his scalp. At some point he takes out a few tissues and pushes them onto Kuroo’s head, and they are suffused with blood once he takes them off and throws them in the trashcan, “Holy fuck,” he murmurs, which is not that comforting considering the circumstances.

Tears of relief start leaking from Kuroo’s bloodshot eyes when the pain finally stops. His head feels surprisingly lighter, as if a heavy weight has been lifted from it. He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out if a high-pitched whimper, so instead he buries his face in Kenma’s thigh, his tears staining Kenma’s denim shorts. “I’m sorry, but I had to.” Kenma says, cupping Kuroo’s cheeks and letting their eyes meet. With his thumbs, he wipes the salty tears on his stained cheeks, even though Kuroo keeps crying. His chest is heaving, sobs clogging his throat.

It’s been a while since he has cried for real; as a child, he was always the type of boy to keep in the tears and wanting to seem brave and fearless in front of the rest of the toddlers in the playground and wanting to show just how unaffected he was by the large bruises on his thighs and the bloody scratches on his arms from all the hide-and-seek. “What — ?” he asks when he notices what Kenma is holding in with his other hand in front of him.

It’s a rather tiny, circular, ball-shaped item, black with an even tinier red light that one would only notice closely, “Tracking device,” Kenma explains calmly, yet Kuroo’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that that was the item Kenma removed from his hair, “Sticks onto your head like a leech and releases benzodiazepines; makes you feel all achy and tired and manages to… make you forget.”

Kenma’s speech is just a jumble of words to Kuroo in his terrible state, but he manages to hold onto the most important words. “Your head’s not going to hurt anymore,” Kenma states professionally, his fingers stroking Kuroo’s cheeks, and it feels so nice, so warm, so intimidate that Kuroo starts crying again. “You’ll remember soon as well.”

It’s the first time everything has made sense to Kuroo in the last two weeks, and the relief and terror of what has been cleared up and what’s to come next bring more hot tears on his cheeks, “Kenma…” he whimpers, not really knowing why or for what he’s begging.

“Deep breaths,” the boy reminds him, pushing his black fringe out of his face and threading his fingers through the thick hair. He places the tracking device on the floor and slams on it with his foot, crashing it to a million pieces. “Kuroo, look at me,” he does, “I will take you home now — you’ll get enough sleep, then we’ll talk. Okay?”

Kuroo doesn’t feel himself nod, but he supposes he does with his numb mouth, because Kenma smiles and helps him sit up. They exit the Waffle House staggering, with Kuroo leaning against Kenma in order to balance himself on his wobbly, weak legs. In the taxi that Kenma calls Kuroo remains silent, his body naturally leaning towards the smaller boy and resting his head on his shoulder. He almost falls asleep on their way to his apartment; almost forgets how many times he’s felt pain tonight, almost forgets the sheer pleasure he felt when Kenma touched him, the bliss and happiness he felt with his head on his lap, almost forgets the pain that struck him like lightning when that devious-looking thing was removed from his own hair.

But then, they’re at his house and he remembers everything again. He’s actually sad for being able to recall anything for the first time in two weeks.

Once they have reached Kuroo’s apartment with great difficulty, he does not have the strength to guide Kenma through it like a proper host. He hears Kenma mutter a simple ‘sorry for the intrusion’, and goes straight to his room, falling on his bed with a tired sigh, pulling the covers over him until they reach his throat, as if creating a shelter.

Kenma enters the room, kneeling next to the bed and reach to touch Kuroo’s face again, caressing at the base of his ears.

“You’ll tell me tomorrow, right?” Kuroo mumbles, sleep already taking over him and making his words slurry.

“I will.” Kenma says in a promising tone, “Sleep now, you need to rest. I’ll explain everything to you tomorrow.”

“Stay,” Kuroo says hurriedly when Kenma gets up, “U-until I fall asleep… then, you can go…”

He hears Kenma hums and his fingers start caressing his face again.

 

 

He dreams of needles, soft touches and yellow eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the beginning of this story is going to be a bit angsty i guess, but i promise more happy times coming soon! 
> 
> have a good day/afternoon/night! xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenma pulls his knees near his chest, wrapping his arms around himself defensively, “I guess I see myself in you. When I was in your place, I would have liked someone to guide me through it and make it less painful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> late night writing againnnn i seem to only have inspiration after midnightt
> 
> thank you all so so so much for the kind comments/kudos! it makes me very happy to see people are enjoying this! 
> 
> enjoy this chapter and have a wonderful day/night/afternoon :) xx

When Kuroo wakes up, there’s no one next to him.

 

 

He ponders for a moment if everything that happened last night was just a fragment of his imagination, a made-up story created by his dreams, only to be shattered by the first sunlight that would slip into the room from the shutters. He then sees Kenma sitting by the window with his PSP in his hands and closes his eyes again, sighing in relief.

During the few minutes before falling asleep last night, Kuroo realized that he has been consumed by one sentiment only for the past couple of weeks; dread. He’s always had that feeling that something was wrong with him after that night that he still has trouble remembering, but he blames it for all the strange things that have occurred to him after that incident. And Kenma has been the only person so far to throw some light on his situation — a stranger, of all people. And his so far vague explanation of things sounds so peculiar and impossible that it might be correct.

In the end, Kuroo has decided to trust Kenma for the time being. After all, the boy did take that black thing out of his hair.

Which, now that he’s thinking about it, is the most terrifying thing that’s happened to him so far in his life. Kenma mentioned that it had been a tracker, a device responsible for locating him wherever he went and probably gave away whatever he did at any time during the day — the mere thought of someone purposely wanting to know of his whereabouts and seeking glances of him during the day hidden behind him made him shiver in disgust and fear combined.

“Stayed the night?” Kuroo whispers, and the room is so quiet that Kenma hears him from across the room.

“I stayed until you fell asleep,” Kenma explains. His knees are drawn up to his chest as he sits on the floor and toys with the fabric of his socks, “Went home and came back this morning.”

Kuroo halts from where he’s trying to get up from his bed, “Akaashi let you in?”

“Bokuto-san did,” Kenma explains, sounding as uninterested and calm as ever, “I told him I was here to see you and he cackled for a moment before showing me the way to your room. They’ve both left now.”

Kuroo groans, slowly padding to the kitchen, “Want some coffee?”

Kenma doesn’t answer at first, too immersed in his game, “D’you have tea?”

He makes him an English Breakfast tea with one spoonful of sugar — he figures that the boy is fond of sweet since he likes their cafe’s apple pie which is the sweetest thing Kuroo has ever tasted. “I need to show you something once you finish your coffee.”

The young man gulps down his hot espresso quicker than he’s ever done before and he’s soon led to his bathroom, where Kenma starts taking his shirt off, “Uh —“ he’s found himself in a rather compromising situation involving his new friend for the second time in twelve hours.

“Take your shirt off.”

“O-okay.”

Kenma looks around for a moment. Kuroo notices that he has small shoulders, thin torso but a toned stomach and arms, lightly tanned skin with a few specks of freckles here and there on his shoulders and back. “Do you have a small mirror?”

It’s embarrassing how quickly he finds Bokuto’s mirror that the boy uses to fix his owlish hair every morning — he’s caught him several times with hair gel slipping from his hands as he tries to raise his hair in the desired height.

Kenma takes the small plastic mirror and turns Kuroo around so that his back is facing the large bathroom mirror, placing it at the right angle so that he has a view of his own backside —

And he notices something that certainly wasn’t there before.

A mark. A red, rhombus-shaped mark that looks like it’s imprinted on his skin for good.

Kenma moves next to him so that Kuroo now has a view of his own bare backside, only to realize that Kenma too has this mark at the bottom of his back, near the end of his spine. With trembling fingers, he reaches out to touch it, feeling the red bumps of the scar that’s been formed and has been imprinted on his skin. “W-what — “

“It means we have undergone the experimentation process and survived.” Kenma says quietly, “It marks us as subjects.”

Kuroo’s throat feels dry and his heart is pumping like crazy, cold sweat travelling from the base of his neck down his backside, passing over the mark. His arms feel cold and seek warmth even though its summer and it’s boiling hot inside their apartment. Kenma takes a deep breath and starts talking again, “It was about two weeks ago, wasn’t it? The night that you can’t remember what happened?”

Kuroo simply nods, not bothering to ask how Kenma knows all that, “You were probably part of the same experimentation process as I was. With just a simple syringe, right about… here.” his pinky lands at Kuroo’s side, a few centimeters bellow the end of his ribcage. He feels a stab in the heart as realization starts dawning him.

It’s only blurry images that his brain can recall now; the coldness of the metal against his naked skin, an abstract figure smiling at him and a sudden pinch on his thigh, then succumbing to the darkness. “W-why?” he croaks out, and Kenma remains silent. He pushes Kuroo’s shoulder, and after a second he realizes that Kenma wants him to kneel. He does so, and is soon met with Kenma’s smaller back, an identical shape like his between two dimples at the bottom of his torso. He reaches out reluctantly, a ghostly touch over the scar on the unblemished skin with his index finger. Then, he’s pressing on it, trying to comprehend the nature of it, like a blind man exploring a new surface. It seems like it was burned onto his skin; the thought makes him shudder, realizing that this was probably the same way he got marked as well.

He becomes conscious of the fact that Kenma has not answered yet; perhaps his questions is not going to be answered for a long time. “W-what is this ‘experimentation process’ you’re talking about?” he knows he’s not ready for Kenma to answer his question; it will probably churn his insides and push him to point of vomiting — he’s already getting there.

The words sit at Kenma’s throat for a moment, as if he’s hesitating to say them out loud, “We’re not sure who or why, for now, at least.” his voice is calm and collected, “But in the last ten years a fair amount of people here in Tokyo have gone through the same thing as you. Being kidnapped for the minimum of one night, then returning back home in a humiliating state. At first, you think you’re sick, with all the vomiting and shit, but then you notice.” he turns around so quickly that Kuroo jumps in terror.

Kenma is now kneeling as well, face-to-face with Kuroo. “You-you can see better, right? Hear even the quietest sounds in the room, until your head starts hurting with all the information you’re receiving? Don’t your nails itch?” Kenma’s now taking deep breaths, as if he’s on the verge of tears. He grabs Kuroo’s hands roughly and enlacing their fingers, squeezing them together as a form of self-control, although his eyes are already teary and his nose is slowly turning pinkish. “T-they itch, don’t they? Like you want to scratch everything that’s in your way? When it doesn’t even feel good scratching your own skin?”

Then Kenma breaks down.

He cries silently; tears stream down his face, and a knot settles in Kuroo’s throat as he sees the person who comforted him last night through his crisis break down in front of him like a porcelain figurine.

“Excuse me.” Kenma breathes out, wiping the tears from his face even though more keep coming down, “The symptoms were less intense in your case, I imagine.” he takes a deep breath, “I’m not sure if you have noticed but the things that have changed in your body are all feline characteristics.”

“Feline?”

“As in, the physical characteristics of a cat.”

The puzzle piece gets into place, and soon everything is a bit clearer to Kuroo, “H-how —“

“Someone has been experimenting on citizens in the hopes of creating humans with animal and shapeshifting abilities. Some sort of mutant race or another twisted idea which I can’t figure out right now.” Kuroo is the one to grab Kenma’s hands this time, trying to steady himself or else he’ll fall onto the cold marble.

“A-and we’re part of this t-twisted idea?”

“The part that survived, yes. Most of them die instantly.”

Kuroo vomits all over Kenma’s lap.

 

 

  
It’s much later once they’ve finished cleaning up the bathroom that Kuroo is able to speak again. They’re currently sitting at a short bench in a park near Kuroo’s apartment. He knows Akaashi and Bokuto are going to be back soon and for the first time in ages he does not wish for them to find him like this. “So, like, I’m part cat now?”

“I assume so,” Kenma says, and for once, he doesn’t have his phone or his PSP in his hands, gaze stuck on the ground as he twiddles his thumbs while he converses with Kuroo, “The serum that was inserted to you has altered your DNA in a way making it possible for you to change your shape into a cat.”

“Are you shitting me?” Kuroo chokes.

“I’m not.”

“So you can change into a cat as well?”

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

Kenma sighs, “Now’s not the time. Once you meet Ukai, you can toy with your new powers as much as you want.” he says the last part bitterly, much to Kuroo’s surprise.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that.” Kuroo mumbles, “I’m just finding this a little hard to believe, I’m-I’m not treating this as a game, if you’re worried about that. I can assure you that I’m really scared and anxious, if that’s what you want to hear.”

He immediately regrets saying those words, because Kenma hides his face in his palms and pushes his hair back slowly. His eyes have started watering again, “H-hey, don’t cry —“

“I’m sorry,” Kenma says, weak and vulnerable. “I’m supposed to make this easier for you, not make you feel guilty about it.”

“Why are you helping me?” Kuroo asks, genuinely curious. It’s not like he’s particularly sensitive; living in a big city like Tokyo meant that surpassing people who needed help and not aiding them was a part of everyday life that you just had to accept. And here was Kenma, a boy who was just a patron in the coffeeshop he worked, a person he had never even talked with before, to have in common such a traumatizing experience with him was surreal.

Kenma pulls his knees near his chest, wrapping his arms around himself defensively, “I guess I see myself in you. When I was in your place, I would have liked someone to guide me through it and make it less painful.”

A silence falls between the two boys for a while. Neither of them do anything or initiate the beginning of a new conversation. At some point, Kuroo feels something soft against bare leg — a large, slim cat. How ironic.

Its fur is light brown and curly, tail swishing back and forth and almost tickling Kuroo’s skin. There’s an unusual grin on the cat’s face, a Cheshire-cat like smile that Bokuto usually puts on whenever he’s feeling excited or whenever he’s suggesting the three of them do something risky (or illegal, probably).

He reaches out to rub just under the cat’s chin, immediately remembering the places where Kenma touched him last night, how euphoric and comforting it felt, the rumbling that escaped his throat which seemed all too similar with the way the cat’s purring against him right now, “So I can turn into a cat as well, then?” he asked, absentmindedly running his palm over the cat’s back, touching its tail and watching as the animal happily jumps onto the bench between the two boys. It reaches out to Kenma as well, who immediately touches just behind its ears, and the cat instantly falls on its stomach, its face smushed against Kenma’s thigh, the purring even louder than before.

“Yes.” Kenma replies, “But you’ll learn more tomorrow. I’ll take you to Ukai and he might explain things better to you than I did.”

“You mentioned this guy before, who is he?”

The boy doesn’t speak for a moment, “He’s our…protector. A mentor, of sorts. I’ll take you to him tomorrow night after your shift ends, alright?” Kuroo nods. “By the way, this is Oikawa-san.” he points at the cat.

Kuroo tilts his head, “You named the cat? Is it yours?”

Kenma sighs, “He’s one of us, Kuroo.”

 

 

It’ll take Kuroo a while to get used to this, but he figures out things are starting to get a bit better, now that Kenma’s by his side.


End file.
